


Apocrypha's Grasp

by Volkihars



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Story within a Story, Swearing, apocrypha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volkihars/pseuds/Volkihars
Summary: Weird fic about my Vigilant of Stendarr adjacent Dragonborn, Pintius, who went a little overboard with the Black Books.
Relationships: Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Marcurio, Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Serana, Marcurio/Serana (Elder Scrolls)





	Apocrypha's Grasp

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by jiubilant’s [post](https://jiubilant.tumblr.com/post/619650234824392704/possible-post-solstheim-side-effects-of-reading) on possible effects of the Black Books.

_“A story, huh? Have you ever heard of the Last Dragonborn? Well, there’s a lot they don’t sing about.”_

It was another day of sitting idly by in a shady tavern in an attempt to find customers. I thought the mercenary shit would be actually entertaining. The most fun I’d had in the past couple of weeks had been watching a couple of drunken brawls. 

“Another round, please,” I asked the bartender, setting down a satchel of gold. I thank her for the mead. At least there’s one good thing about Riften. 

_“I stand by that, honestly.”_

_“Back to the story!”_

The door opened, complete with the jingling and clanging of two adventurers’ armor. I was thinking like, **don’t blow this, don’t blow this...**

“For a modest fee, I'll bring my formidable arcane powers to bear against your foes. What do you say?” 

I didn’t look up before I said it. Honestly, I was too excited. The moment did look up, I saw two things. Two Dragon Priest masks and… the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. I was starting to get second thoughts. 

“Consider yourself hired, sir,” the masked man replied before I could back out. Well, shit. He seemed respectful, at the very least. Not that that had stopped anyone here from being generally awful, but as far as Riften goes, basic formalities are a rarity. I stand up to shake his hand. 

“Marcurio, at your service,” I introduce myself. 

“This is Serana.” The other masked adventurer waves an armored hand. “And I’m Pintius.” Standing up, his name made a lot more sense. Serana and I towered over the man. Pintius handed me the septims 

“Let’s go,” I hinted, trying to get out of the wretched city as soon as possible. “Let’s go,” Pintius concurred. 

_“When does this get good?”_

_“Patience.”_

A few weeks later, we’re in a cave in god-knows-where, Skyrim, and fighting the undead, 

_“Because one of the only held constants in this hell-world is the will of adventurers to fling themselves at any tomb that could have money and/or treasure in it.”_

_“Uncle Marcurio, please”_

...and Serana and I are both damn near dead. He finishes off the abomination, and of course, is bleeding out from just about everywhere. 

Serana and I get up to see if he’s okay, and he takes off his mask and hood, and like, okay sure, if you’re covered in blood you get sticky and gross, right? I don’t know what I expected from the fucking Dragonborn (did I mention that, holy shit?) but it was not what I saw before my eyes. 

He looked… off, to say the least. Not immediately so, but almost as if the world warped around him. I could have sworn I saw eyes floating about him, but the draugr did use some poison on me, so it may have been some weird effect. The vein running up his neck ran ink-black. He looked like he had several pupils, almost, but again, Ancient Nordic poisons could be quite torturous. 

You’d expect a guy on the brink of death to use a restoration spell, right? I sure did. An unfamiliar green light cloaked him, and it looked as if he had came back to life, or I guess almost closer to un-life. Not that he was dead before, but the spell stitched his wounds together in a matter of seconds, and with it he caught his breath. He looked… greener than before, though not in an envious or sick or inexperienced way, just… greener. 

“Are you alright? What was that spell?” 

Serana seemed unbothered by this, as well as the image of her potentially… corrupted? companion. 

“Yes. Just a little something I picked up in Apocrypha.” He dragged out the syllables of the Daedric realm like he savored the way they tasted. Of fucking course the first guy to hire him would be a Daedra’s weird ass servant. Of course. 

“Hermaeus Mora’s realm?” I asked, for lack of a better question. 

“Though I do not like him, his plane of Oblivion drew me in. Forbidden knowledge is a ruthless addiction.” 

That statement didn’t clarify much, it just led to more questions. Did that Shout that could bring down a dragon start all this? Why did he spend so much time in Apocrypha to the point that he ended up like that? 

“You don’t like Hermaeus Mora and yet you do his bidding and inhabit his realm. To the point that your body is visibly corrupt from it.” As my father said, when in doubt, snark it out. 

Pintius rose from the ground. From this vantage point, the corruption in his body was more visible. It wasn’t the venom that made it look as if he had several pupils, he had black specks in the whites of his eyes. Dread pooled in my stomach as I fought the urge to up and run. 

“To defeat Miraak, I had no choice but to collaborate with him. I didn’t have to read all the Black Books though but it… it drew me in. Maybe it was my curiosity as a scholar or maybe I didn’t heed Arngeir’s warnings about Dragonrend, but I needed to read all of them. I took to gathering all of them, to finding and keeping them someplace safe. I’ve never been one for a personal collection, mind you, but this took me over. I’ve never been one for vice, but I suppose Apocrypha would be mine. The tantalizing lure of knowledge, as well as the aesthetics of the whole place is damn near seductive,” Pintius finally clarified. 

That answered presumably all of the questions he knew the answer to. The odd thing was, many of the questions he had just answered, I had not said aloud. 

“My powers give me more knowledge, some of which that I do not want and most of which I do not need. Apocrypha has implanted much in me, mythology and prophecy and history. Even certain mind reading capabilities. I held many of the same beliefs as the Vigilants of Stendarr, before all of this. I still do, to a large extent. I hold much disdain for Daedra, and if anything, Apocrypha’s taint has only sharpened that. I don’t remember much from before, mind you. The books forced into your mind by the Books replace many of your memories. From what I do remember, the only thing that has changed is my impulsivity. All of this information swirls and whips about in my brain and my anger at the world and all it has harmed greatened with each Black Book.” 

He seemed to be reliving a lot of this as he was speaking. I could not understand what he was feeling, but he looked as if he was unable to process all of Apocrypha. Not surprising, considering what he has said so far. 

“One second.” I took off my backpack and placed it on the floor in front of me. I opened the flap and produced 3 bottles of Black-Briar Mead. 

“Heads up.” 

I gently tossed one bottle to Serana and one to Pintius. I supposed it was time for group therapy, and led them both outside to the remarkably well-kept patio of the ruins. 

_“This story sucked,”_

_“Fine, find Serana instead. She’s immortal so she has no excuses for bad stories.”_


End file.
